


a wish I cannot tell you, for it is mine to keep

by RedCrimez89



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bad Parents Jack and Janet Drake, Birthday Wishes, Candy, Child Neglect, Crying, Gen, It Gets Better, Milkshakes, Pre-Robin!Tim, Tears, Tim Drake's Birthday, Tiny Tim - Freeform, Wishes, Wishing on stars, but don’t worry y’all, come give ur child some love and attention pls, happy birthday Tim Drake, he deserves it, he's so precious omg, like srsly???, lonely birthdays, robin!jason, they’re so good !!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:00:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25381993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedCrimez89/pseuds/RedCrimez89
Summary: When Tim’s parents aren’t home to celebrate his ninth birthday like the many years before, he decides to go out and do something he loves: bat and bird watching. Except, he didn’t think he’d gain company along the way...
Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 31
Kudos: 321





	a wish I cannot tell you, for it is mine to keep

**Author's Note:**

> So I decided to write this in honor of Timothys Birthday (July 19th) and this is how it turned out! Originally, this was going to be an all angst story (I have an obsession with it haha) but at the last minute, i decided Tim deserves to be happy (which he does) so... tada!
> 
> Thanks for reading and enjoy :)
> 
> Also, Happy Birthday Tim Drake!!

The light of the candle flickers in the dimly lit room, yellow light draping itself across the walls. It’s quiet in this house. Too quiet. There’s no one here to accompany him either. Nothing except hollow rooms, deafening silence, and the eternal loneliness that has been cast upon him. The shadows of himself on this exact day in different years spread around him. They are all the same; Tim sits alone at a long dining table with a cupcake in front of him. A candle sits atop it, waiting for him to blow it out and make a wish. No one is there with him. It’s just Tim. And he closes his eyes and makes the same wish at the same time as all his past selves.

_I wish my parents would come home to celebrate with me._

Sometimes, if he tried really hard, he could pretend they were here with him. He’d imagine his parents standing beside him, both smiling down at him with a proud gleam in their eyes. ( He’s never seen them look at him like that yet, but he’s determined to try and do something worthy of that look.) They’d sing him a Happy Birthday and give them his presents in person and hug him so tightly, so genuinely. ( Just like Dick Grayson had that night when his parents had fallen to their deaths. He’ll never forget that hug. It’s the best one he’s ever had.) The illusion of company always fractures at the point. It fades into the numbing reality that he is alone and that nobody, not a single person alive, cares about his birthday (or his existence for the matter). Tim knows he’s being silly. After all, another year of living isn’t that much of an accomplishment, is it? But he can’t help but feel hurt by the fact his parents hadn’t bothered to come home and celebrate, hadn’t bothered to even acknowledge the fact that it was the day of his birth. His mother would say he was being childish and perhaps a bit dramatic. She’d tell him to be grateful for what he has. And Tim tries so hard, he _really_ does, but all he really wants is for them to _be here_.

He wants his parents to be home more often. He wants them to eat breakfast with him, and spend time with him, and listen to what he has to say even if his words and ideas are stupid and childish and “unworthy of a Drake” as his Mother would say. Tim wants to have a Star Wars movie marathon as a family and he wants them to assure Tim that his best is all they require. But it’s not, and they won’t. They will not travel back to Gotham from Toronto, or San Diego, or wherever they are. They will not tell him to do his best, as they require much more than that. ( Sometimes it seems like they want the whole world, which feels impossible. Tim tries to give it to them anyway, even if it’s his world he must give them to gain their attention.) 

Tim was stupid to believe they’d drop everything just because it happened to be the exact day he was born. He was stupid to believe he meant more to them, that he was worth more than money and expensive items that only appeased the mind for a week at most. All his wishes and hopes seemed preposterous now. They were all dreams of a child who had nothing more than himself and his imagination, a lonely boy that was trying (and failing) to live up to a surname that held many responsibilities.

The pressure forming behind Tim’s eyes multiples itself until it’s too much to handle. And then there’s salty tears streaming down his pale cheeks and the dam of emotion he’s been keeping in check for so long suddenly bursts through him. 

Ire and hurt and betrayal all crash over him like a tidal wave, suffocating him in emotions that belong to present-Tim and past-Tim. He shutters slightly, teeth gritted as strangled sobs escape him. His chest is tight and it hurts to breathe, maybe because he’s crying so hard, but he can’t help it. Ancient tears that have been restrained for years - all because being a good kid includes being quiet and clean and not being too loud or fussy. All because being a good kid makes his parents stay longer sometimes - all come flowing out of him like a rushing river. 

He sobs and heaves and sobs, gasping for air as a headache approachs him because he’s crying _that hard_. Tim eventually gets a hold of himself but not after many tears have been shed. Not after memories of waking up from nightmares with no one to comfort him, or hot, summer days where all he can do is sit and wait to be acknowledged come rushing back to him. Tim wrangles the crying into the constraints of his chest, swallows them down and jerks a bit. Barely audible sniffing echoes throughout the room as he makes the same wish, one last time. 

“ I wish Mom and Dad would come home to celebrate with me.” The whisper travels around the empty room, dancing around and eventually fading into silence.

He blows out the candle and the yellow light slowly flickers away into black nothingness.

Tim is upset to find out that nine of the same wishes cannot make a person come back for you, no matter how much you try.

* * *

He really doesn’t know what he was thinking.

All Tim had wanted was to find an escape away from the lonely, quiet, too-big house that is Drake Manor. And maybe that was what had impelled him to scurry up the stairs and grab some loose change and throw his camera around his neck, to change into clothes more suited for chilly Gotham nights and sneakers that would allow him to jump and climb with ease. Or maybe this was his brain’s way of providing comfort because it knew this was one of Tim’s favorite things to do, but either way, now he was set up on a rooftop waiting for Batman and Robin to swing by the area. ( He’d already mapped out their entire patrol route and wrote down the best spots to hide and observe from a safe vantage point. All without attracting any unwanted attention.) 

A small smile spreads across his lips as the sound of grapple guns become audible. Two figures swing from rooftop to rooftop, one smaller and leaner than the opposing large and muscular one. _Batman and Robin._ Tim ends up getting a pretty cool shot - Robin is in midair with a large grin as he zooms upwards towards a higher vantage point with Batman following him, his lips slightly quirking up. When he loses sight of them, Tim is already heading to his next best location, adrenaline pumping through his veins and excitement bubbling up in his chest. He knows it creepy - especially because he’s literally _taking pictures_ of them at night - but he can’t help the feelings of enthusiasm and eagerness that radiates off of him. 

And maybe all those feelings create a rather large radius because the next thing he knows, Robin is standing behind him, hands on his hips with a look on his face that Tim can’t quite name. ( The mask doesn’t help either, he mentally adds.) Tim freezes in his tracks, tensing up and completely freezing in place like a deer caught in headlights. His eyes widen comically and his heart is beating so hard, he thinks it might explode out of his chest. 

“ What are you doing up here kid? Ya’ know it ain’t safe at night here ‘n Gotham, right?” Robin asks, an eyebrow raised behind the mask. White lenses shift to the camera around Tim’s neck before they move back to his face and he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to get out of this one with ease.

_Alright Smart Tim, do your thing._

“ Um, yeah I know. You see, I was er - _star gazing._ It’s for a school project. But I kinda forgot it’s hard to see stars here, heh.” He says, rubbing the back of his neck as pink blooms across his cheeks from his non-convincing story.

 _Apparently Smart Tim is out on vacation because that was_ definitely _Dumb Tim. Star gazing? Seriously? You can barely see a handful of stars with the pollution Gotham is sporting._

Robin looks about just as convinced as Tim feels, which is not at all. In fact, his look of uncertainty and questioning only seems to increase. Tim coughs awkwardly, his brain buzzing to think of ways to escape this situation. He could easily take the roof door to get away, but Robin just happens to be standing in front of it. ( Probably on purpose, Tim thinks. Robin knew he’d try and run away once he had been confronted, considering his background.) That’s pretty much the only way off the roof. Except jumping of course, but that’ll grant immediate death. _No way to escape but that door._

“ Right… look squirt, you got one more chance to tell me what you’re doing up here all by yourself. Or I’ll… um… call Batman?.... I’ll call Batman.” Robin huffs, crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to intimidate him. It doesn’t work, not really. Not when he’s skinny and bony like Tim. 

Although that wouldn’t be entirely terrible, seeing as he’s a big supporter (can you even call it that at this point?) of Batman and Robin, but he knows the man probably has better things to attend to than a nine-year old boy who probably seems lost right about now. So Tim, with absolutely no ideas of how to get out of this situation because Smart Tim decided it was a good time to pack his bags and move out, decides, begrudgingly, to give him the truth. And if he sprinkled a couple of lies and almost truths in there, who’s to say it was unexpected?

Tim sighs, shoulders slumping in defeat as he turns back around to view the city. He can practically feel Robin’s eyes piercings through his back, his patience fading slowly as he waits for an answer in anticipation. “ My parents, um, _forgot_ about my birthday today. It’s alright though, because they’ll probably make it next time. I was just - just really hoping they’d be here… “ He sighs, voice fading before he continues.

“ They said they’d be back from their business trip in time, but something must’ve came up. My birthday isn’t that important anyway but I just...” His eyebrows scrunch together, a little frown morphing onto his face. “ …. Sorry, I - I didn’t mean to rant to you about my stupid problems. They’re probably not as big and important as yours anyway and -“ 

He’s interrupted by Robin sitting beside him, a wide grin on his face. “ Nah, not really Timmy. You’d think being Robin would make my problems worse, but really? They’re probably categorized in the same severity level as yours.” He waves a dismissive hand at the idea, shoulders shrugging up as the breeze musses his raven curls.

“ H - how did you know my name?” Tim asks, eyes wide with a mix of awe and confusion. Robin gestures to the strap around his neck with a large grin and there it is - his name written in a small, neat font.

“ You forgot it existed, didn’t you?” 

Tim nods with a small, sheepish smile.

“ I wasn’t trained by the best for nothin’ Timbers!”

( He doesn’t really understand the purpose of the nicknames, but he doesn’t really mind it either. It’s less formal than his usual ‘Timothy’ and more… casual. Tim thinks he likes it.)

Silence between them begins to stretch and for a moment, it’s just the two of them, the world seemingly nonexistent as well as their problems and pain. ( The pain that comes from his parents never being home. The pain that comes from them being seemingly uninterested in being around him, uninterested in acknowledging his very existence.)

Tim’s thankful really, because it’s always been easier pretending everything was sunshine and rainbows in his world. It’s always been easier to ignore the facts rather than acknowledge the painful truths. It’s always been easier for Tim to act as if his life is what everyone often perceives it to be; full of love and warmth and happiness and _family._ ( It’s never been that way in that house. It’s always been cold and empty, too big and too quiet for only one small person to occupy.)

After many moments of silence pass between them, he sees Robin reaching for his utility belt. The older boy opens a compartment and pulls out two lollipops, both blueberry flavored, and hands one to Tim before he unwraps his own. Tim stares at the candy in his hand, hesitant to try it. It’s been awhile since he’s had candy. 

His nannies only serve him desserts and baked goods, courtesy of his mother’s strict instructions.( His mother says he doesn’t need to be eating sugary treats such as candy. Tim has always questioned this, but never dared to ask. If he doesn’t ask too many questions, or any at all, sometimes they stay longer.) “ What’s wrong? Don’t like candy?” Robin asks, snapping him out of his short daze.

Tim’s attention snaps over to Robin who’s tilting his head slightly, gaze curious despite the mask that’s covering his eyes. His lips are already blue from him sucking on the lollipop, as well as his tongue.

The gears in Tim’s brain shift, slowly catching up and running the question through it's search programs. “ Huh? Oh um, I don’t really eat candy a lot back at home. Mom says it’s too sugary.” He shrugs, unwrapping the candy to give it a taste. He licks the blue colored lollipop, eyes widening when blueberry flavoring hits his taste buds. It’s… good. _Really_ good.

On the other hand, Robin looks outraged. “ What! What do you mean ‘it’s too sugary’? Timmy, that’s the best part! You poor, innocent soul.” Robin says, looking at him like he’s got it bad, like he’s the one that came from Crime Alley and who grew up with parents who never could or did take care of him. 

Robin shoots up to his feet, lollipops forgotten as he pulls Tim up with him. “ Come on Timmers, we have some things to rectify.” He states before pulling out his grappling gun, aiming, and shooting. Before Tim can even begin to formulate an answer, or even blink, he’s flying through the air like a soaring bird with the feeling of freedom spreading through his body as the wind blows in his face. 

Tim feels like he could do this _forever._

* * *

Tim isn’t quite sure how he got here to be honest. When he’d first embarked on this journey, he hadn’t expected being confronted by his idol, hadn’t expected gaining company, or dare he say it, a friend along the way. Despite knowing this boy beside him - this older boy who inspires him to keep going, to keep continuing his track down the road even when it feels unbearable - isn’t his friend, he tosses the daft idea around in his head, wishing it were true. And not because he is Robin. Not because he happens to be a hero and someone almost everyone knows. Not because he continuously saves people on a nightly basis, or because he’s skilled in things most people could only wish to be, or because of the intellect he holds. It’s because Timothy is always lonely and numb in a too-big house that is too empty and cold and quiet to live in. Because Tim doesn’t have friends - he’s entirely too weird and awkward to try and gain any - and he knows who Robin really is behind the witty remarks and sarcastic retorts. He knows Robin is _good_ , truly good. Not one of those fakers who try to use you to their advantage. He's _real_ , dependable. Tim has always wanted a friend like that.

He takes a sip of his strawberry milkshake, savoring the taste of sugar and strawberries and ice cream combined into this delicious concoction. Tim cannot believe he’s never tried this before. The drink is nothing akin to anything he’s ever tasted. It’s not fizzy like soda, or flavorful like juice, or just tasteless like water. This drink is something else, cold and creamy and sweet. It has flavor, but nothing close to the juice boxes his nannies give him so rarely. It’s so…. _different._ And not the bad kind. 

Beside him, Robin is sipping on his own milkshake. Most of the contents are gone, only a quarter of it is left, but he seems to be enjoying himself. “ I cannot believe you got the second most boring flavor.” He says, sipping his own cookies and cream flavored treat from a red straw. 

A frown grows on Tim’s face, the joy the milkshake had brought suddenly forgotten. He feels shame coling up in his abdomen, plaguing him with the need to appease the older boy. The need to correct his mistake because if Robin doesn’t like strawberry flavored milkshakes, then Tim needs to change himself to appease his mind. He needs to become something he is not, just like he does for his parents, and morph himself into someone Robin will want to be around.

“ I - I’m sorry. Should I have gotten the cookies and cream one? I can throw mine away if you don’t like it…” He says, voice small as shame bleeds into him. Tim should’ve known better. He should’ve _known._

_Stupid, stupid, stupid -_

Whatever look that is displayed on Robin’s face, Tim doesn’t see. He’s too busy wallowing in his shame, too busy berating himself for not being able to be a person Robin would want to be around. 

“ Kid? What are you talkin’ about? I don’t care if you like a different flavor than me, I was just teasing ya.” The usual joy and sarcasm isn’t there anymore, leaving the older boys voice hesitant and something else Tim can’t quite explain. It’s out of character for him. He doesn’t like it.

Tim finally gains the courage to look up at him and he is greeted by a judge mental free face. He can tell the statement is genuine and that he really means it, but he can’t help but ask, “ A - are you sure? Because it wouldn’t be a problem to -“ 

“ Tim, I’m sure. I don’t care if ya like somethin’ different. It’s your opinion that strawberry is better. You're allowed to have one.” Robin goes silent, searching his face to see if the message has really sunken in yet. “ You… you know that, right?”

He swallows thickly, nodding but not fully understanding because he’s not allowed to have his own opinion. He’s expected to adopt the opinions of others and forge them into his own. He’s expected to blend in with the crowd, to wear the same black suit and grey tie as the rest of them. He’s never had the option of really, truly, having his _own_ opinion or his own likes. But maybe he can try, for Robin. Maybe he can try something new, just like the milkshake and the lollipop, and see if he likes it.

“ Y - Yeah. I … I understand.”

Robin doesn’t seem too convinced with his reply. He looks as though he’s about to try and push him into speaking more about the matter, but at the last minute he decides to drop it, silence misting over them from there on out. ( Tim is grateful yet again. Because like usual, it’s always easier to pretend and “forget”.)

“ Hey… it’s your birthday, right?” The latter says, his head tilting to the left slightly.

Tim nods, a small, awkward smile growing on his lips. “ Yeah.. it is.”

A green gloved hand gestures up towards the clouds where clusters of stars dot the foggy night sky. Granted, Gotham’s pollution makes it hard to see any little specks of white, but they aren’t entirely hidden by the smog covering the depressing atmosphere.“ Then make a wish Birthday-Tim.”

His eyebrows scrunch slightly, confusion lingering behind his pale blue irises. “ But? But I already made my birthday wish?” He says, the statement becoming more of a question due to the bemusement in his tone.

“ So?” Robin says, shoulders shrugging. “ Make another one.”

“ … Alright.”

Tim takes in a deep breath, slow and steady and calm. He closes his eyes, casting his wish upon the stars painted across the dark blue canvas humans call the sky. He slowly opens his eyelids and turns to face Robin, no longer oblivious to the anticipation radiating off the older boy.

“ Well kid? What’d you wish for?”

Tim smiles, a real genuine smile (just like the one Dick Grayson has given him that horrible, bloody night), picks up his strawberry milkshake that Robin doesn’t judge him for because he’s allowed to be himself for awhile, takes a long sip (just to make him wait a couple seconds longer) and says, “If I tell you, it won’t come true.”

**Author's Note:**

> You already KNOW Jason has a list of nicknames for everyone he meets, even if he doesn’t know them too well. It grew off on him ever since he started hanging out with Nightwing, lol.
> 
> Comments and constructive criticism are highly encouraged :)


End file.
